


The Yellow House

by lilredsoupbowl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilredsoupbowl/pseuds/lilredsoupbowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal decides to settle in Storybrooke; putting down roots with his new yellow beach house. A house Emma will avoid at all costs!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Tamara's 'fucking agenda' came out, Emma heard Granny relaying the story to Snow one morning at the diner. Tamara appeared to have left the town overnight and Neal was quoted as saying he needed 'some time to figure out how he felt'. The engagement wasn't called off – as far as Emma knew, Tamara could very well still be his future wife!

He also, apparently, needed some space. Where Emma assumed Tamara had scampered back to New York, within a week boxes arrived containing Neal's apartment. Slightly more boxes then when her own had been deposited in Storybrooke more than a year ago but Neal had always been a packrat she recalled as she turned her attention away from the stacks in front of the Inn and headed into the diner.

Three weeks after his belongings arrived, Neal announced he'd bought a house. Having expected to simply be picking up her son at his dad's hotel room, Emma was taken aback. But he seemed a mixture of pride and excitement at sharing this news, their son leaping about him as both males planned out a tree-fort for the backyard – a castle, Henry insisted! The atmosphere was contagious. Emma couldn't help smiling and congratulating Neal – receiving a shy, awkward grin in return.

She didn't have the heart to bring up the strings Mr. Gold probably pulled to get a vacant house in town. Or the money Gold probably slid under many a table to make this happen – Neal wasn't ready to be fully reconcile and these facts might scare him away.

News traveled fast in a small town. It wasn't long before Emma learned the neighborhood Neal's house was on; right off the beach. And started avoiding that area, near the cannery, like the plague. She just – couldn't look at this house; the place he'd put down roots. The place he was fixing into a home. A home to share with someone else.

Neal wouldn't stop talking about his 'fixer-upper'; each detail painting a more painful image into her heart; Emma Swan was about to lose it!

Months passed, all the while Emma expecting Tamara to come popping out of the woodwork to see the dream house Neal was putting together. But not once! And, when the contractor decided the structure of the house was stable – because Neal just had to go with some shack on the beach that had been in disrepair for 28 odd years – Neal became even more engrossed in the process. Mornings, she'd stubble into the diner to find him camped out in her booth; binders filled with color swatches and options for every room and detail. She had tried to play along, flipping through the pages and being a sympathetic ear as he described the set-backs. But, one morning, sipping the hot coco that had been his treat, she flipped a page to find rows of every shade of yellow imaginable. Some so soft and delicate they were more white with an ethereal glow. Some earthy, browned golds. And right in the center, a color she recognized as 'bug yellow'.

"I need to get to the stations – I'm sure whatever you pick will be fine. It is your house!"

The more she'd throw herself into work, both as the sheriff and Savior, the less time she found spare for Neal to pop up and ask her opinion; the less times she'd be asked if she wanted to come 'check it out'. By summer, Neal was starting the main task: he and Henry were starting to build a tree-fort/castle in the backyard. Henry was ecstatic, describing the location they'd picked and how a trail led from the fort, through a hedge of pampas grass, and right onto the beach. As Henry kept going, talking about his tower and drawbridge – all part of the plan he and his dad mapped out; Neal turned to Emma and asked if she'd like to join them for the final day of building. He'd even joked that her highness could led them in a ceremony when they were done; christen the castle in her royal name.

For a moment, she had to laugh at the idea. Imagining these two fondling about all day in their building and a mock speech she could give to cement this fond family memory. But then, everything came crashing back. That this fun would be a lie for her; the home and backyard a phantom of what might have been in Tallahassee.

So, she shook her head. An excuse ready on her lips as she wished them both a fun afternoon and told Henry to be safe.

It wasn't until early autumn came that Emma was forced to confront this house head on. There had been a break-in at the abandoned cannery; nothing taken out of the storehouse but it appeared that someone had been camping out inside – possibly for several weeks.

When she exited the cannery, staring off into the sea thinking what this could mean; after all, Storybrooke had just had it's first few weeks of uninterrupted peace!, Emma noticed a flash of gold breaking up the otherwise gray landscape of Maine's coastline. It was a house, a small two-story with window boxes in rows at each level. Facing at an angle, probably offering a sea view for the front of the house. The cottage was painted 'bug yellow' – and had the neighbors not been eccentric fairytale characters, she was sure the color would be deemed too bold; obnoxious even.

Emma found herself walking closer, gravitating to the yellow. Nearer, she could make out the side of Henry's new castle; the tower peeking out of bushes and overlooking the beach.

Neal, in all his glory, even had placed a white picket fence around the yard. Just to accentuate the stereotypical imagery of home. With a sad smile, she realized that was probably a symbol drilled into his mind upon landing in this world; the peaceful, white picket fence of a family's home. She'd grown up the same; and couldn't blame him for trying to make such a dream a reality.

The back door opened, and Neal stuck his head out, grinning at Emma.

"Problem, officer?"

"Looks like someone's been hauled up at the cannery – wondered if you've noticed anything suspicious? Maybe seen a light in the night?"

Neal shook his head, stepping aside to allow Emma into the room; a kitchen. Painted in a softer shade, but still very yellow. Over the stove, one window looked out onto Henry's castle. To the left, another window overlooked the beach. The table Emma remembered from New York was center in the room, surrounded by mismatched chairs. From sun-bleached rafters hung pots and pans from the ceilings. The quality of light reflecting from the windows off the yellowed walls, the well-used and cherished furniture; Emma had to admit the room was a cozy sight. When the kettle on the stove sounded, Neal gestured for Emma to have a seat at the table as he started to prepare two cups of tea. Setting a mug in front of her, he sat himself in the chair adjacent; taking a sip from his own as he joked,

"So – our next crisis is unfolding up at the cannery? What villain are we dealing with now? Ursula? Cruella de Vil?"

"No signs of puppies or wanting to turn a 100 or so puppies into a coat – so I assume Cruella is out of the running. Actually, there aren't signs of anything! Bedding. Dust had foot prints, like someone's been pacing back and forth. I'd suggest ghosts – if there weren't wrappers of food thrown around as well. Doubt ghosts need to eat!"

Processing the information, Neal nodded.

"I'll keep an eye out for you – I'm new enough that most don't seem to realize I'm down here."

"Yeah, and you've chosen such a subtle house color! Just blends right in!"

"Hey, I like it!"

"I bet you do!"

Running his hands through his hair, Neal turned to look out at the beach; pausing to sip his tea.

"The moment I saw this place… I just knew it was right for me; that this was my home."

"Hear it was quite the shit-hole when you started."

"Yeah – but I was willing to work on it; fix her up. When you find something right for you… it's worth the wait."

Completely misreading the double meaning, Emma asked,

"So – when will Tamara get to see it? I'm amazed she's stayed away so long."

"Doubt she and her new boyfriend will be leaving the City anytime soon."

Pausing; dunking her tea bag up and down – Emma searched for the correct response.

"I'm sorry, Neal."

And she was! Whatever happened between them, they would always be kindred spirits. Two lost souls searching for somewhere to belong; someone to belong to. And him not getting his happy ending – it did bother her! Sure, he got his white picket fence and yellow house – but she knew that wasn't fully home. Not for either of them.

"…. It's really okay… the life I was trying for, that wasn't where I was meant to be. End of the day: I'm just a small town, yellow house by the beach kind of guy. And I'm happy with that. I really am happy; or at least on the road to happiness."

"Guess that's pretty much all of us – except the whole 'we defeat evil doers and save the world' pattern you and I have fallen into. Other then that, we're totally small-town, salt of the earth types!"

"Definitely except for that," agreed Neal as he smiled sipping his tea.

"Would… would you be interested in seeing the rest of the house? I know you probably need to get back to work Emma but –"

"No. I mean… yes! I'd love to get the whole grand-tour. 'No' being that I need to get back to work- work can wait a bit."

Grinning, Neal grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. Unfinished tea abandoned as he dragged her along a hallway, past rooms on her left and right; a staircase – right into the main entrance hall and out the front door. Arching her eyebrow at him, Neal explained,

"You've got to do the tour right, and starting at the beach entrance is part one."


	2. Chapter 2

The house had been Neal's refuge for the last few months; something he could throw himself into completely. Sanding away the old paint; striping the ugly floral wallpaper: it had been one of the most therapeutic moments in his life so far. He was physically restoring a home; making the life he'd dreamed of over a decade ago but had given up all hope of.

When Henry started coming over after school; grabbing a paint brush to help his dad make yet another room a shade of yellow, Neal remembered his plans for Tallahassee; the dreams he'd constructed those two days when the world seemed brighter eleven years ago.

One afternoon, he'd been late returning home from the hardware store – finding Henry waiting on the porch; seated on the wide railing; book in hand. Neal watched him for a moment, savoring the way his son's eyes darted away from the book every so often to look out at the beach. Neal felt his heart constricting – this should have been part of his Tallahassee! Of their Tallahassee!

Now, having Emma standing besides him; looking up at his beach house – Neal was almost giddy! He took her hand again, leading her up the winding porch. Freshly sanded and painted. It was angled to look out on the beach; potted plants, still reviving after their trip from his apartment to Maine, stationed on the railings. He'd even hung large ferns from the overhead beams; swaying in the salty breeze.

"Nice view," Emma offered up. She was trying to be casual but Neal noticed the way her fingers danced along the railing; itching to play with a wind chime he'd constructed from objects collected over the years: an antique spoon, a metal toy car, bits of colored stones and shells he'd found pacing along the beach in an afternoon.

He opened the front door for her; holding it back with a grin on his face as she reentered his house.

The entryway was narrow; the steep staircase starting a total of four feet from the door. Past that – the hallway leading to the kitchen. All painted a buttery yellow; softer against the late afternoon sunlight. A study to the left of the front door, overlooking the ocean. Neal had managed to jam seven bookshelves into the space; leaving just enough room for a cozy armchair under the window. Watching Emma's fingers trail along the spines of his book collection; Neal pondered the feasibility of squeezing in another chair; maybe one for Henry as well…

"I feel like I've fallen into a beatnik-sacrificial altar!"

She was smiling at him; dangling his fading copy of The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test in front of his face.

"Oh my God!" She replaced the Wolfe novel only to pull out Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. "I can't believe the binding is still intact on this one! You read it, like, seven times in two weeks. I remember you forcing me to read it – and reading over my shoulder!"

"And I remember you screaming in a bar, somewhere in the desert –"

"We can't stop here, this is bat country!"

"I knew you liked it, too!"

Laughing and shaking her head, Emma replaced the novel on the shelf.

"Where to next?"

He skipped the kitchen – moving to the final room at the opposite end of the hall; a large living room. Painted a rusty yellow. A long sofa, his record player and collection. A fireplace he had to re-brick months ago – but it was working now. The fume replaced so smoke no longer filled the house when he wanted a fire!

Emma complimented his paint choice again – she noticed! But, he couldn't read her in this; were the different shades of yellow too much? She was the one unwilling to voice an opinion when asked… but it could be a quick fix; repainting if she didn't like so much yellow.

Upstairs; more yellow walls. He showed her Henry's room – the only room not painted yellow. Instead, a dark green the Henry had insisted on. Henry's castle was right under the window. His son had already been plotting to attach a rope ladder; some mechanism between his room and the castle.

Emma surveyed their son's obvious handy work; the incredible hulk poster on the wall by the bed.

He hadn't the heart to show her the other spare room; it was vacant. No furniture at all. Not even storage. Neal knew he had hopes that someday – but didn't want to risk scaring her away. Not when he'd finally gotten her into the house!

His bedroom only had the basics but Emma was quick to locate the photograph on his bedside table: of her and Henry sitting at a booth in the diner. Ruby had taken the picture sometime last year and it found it's way into his room at the inn one evening. By the confusion on Emma's face, she hadn't seen it before – nor given permission for Ruby to pass it along. Opps! But she didn't spin around and fling it in his face; nor question why it was given such a place of reverence – maybe she simply thought it was important because it was the only picture he had of Henry? He sighed in relief when she gently set the frame down again; moving to inspect the view from his windows; one overlooking the sea, the other looked up into the town – a view of the cannery.

"Hell of a view, Cassidy," Emma called from the beach window. "Smells great too! How can you not leave your windows open all the time?"

"Isn't that a safety concern, Sheriff?"

"Don't be cute about it!" Emma turned back around, smiling at him. Moving closer, he prompted for her opinion again. The house and man laid bare for her inspection; her acceptance or denouncement.

"So – you like it?"

"Sure, Neal. It's very 'you'."

He had to disagree with her there. After months of obsessing and overthinking each and every decision: he knew it was very them; perfect for this mess of a family. Even Henry noticed the little things that Neal had added thinking of her! This house – there was still a chance of Tallahassee! And he knew now, more than ever, that he was ready to work for it; to fight for their happy ending.

The gleam in her eyes; the way she licked her bottom lip looking down at the ground- before once again meeting his stare; playing at being bashful! The way she acted years ago when she wanted him to kiss her; to make the first move again.

Stepping closer to Emma, Neal was leaning inward – when a loud clatter echoed from outside. Emma was quick to grab the pair of binoculars Neal had positioned on a windowsill; overlooking the ocean, and took them into the another window. She was peering through the binoculars, looking of at the cannery. Neal could see nothing. Just a parked black van – had that been the noise?

"I see two people," Emma voiced. "A man and a woman – I can't really make them out. My compliments on the antique binoculars, Neal! Pretty to look at but foggy to see through –"

"They're classic, Emma!"

And had reminded him of a pair he'd seen in Mr. Darling's office – hundreds of years ago.

"Whoever they are, it looks like they're unloading boxes from the van and taking them into the cannery. I think we have our ghosts!" She reached for her cellphone on her belt, dialing before announcing into the technology, "David – I need backup at the old cannery. Proceed with caution. I will already be inside."

She headed out the door and down the stair; not once looking back at Neal as he trailed behind her.

"What are you doing, Emma?"

That caught her attention. She spun around before opening the back kitchen door, arching an eyebrow in confusion over his question.

"I'm going to investigate the break-in at the cannery; see what's going on-"

"You should wait for David."

She sighed. Shrugged her shoulders to pass everything off as casual; her new default setting. "There's no indication that these person's are dangerous. Could just be a couple kids messing around-"

"What in the past year has lead you to believe that this is just some kids messing around and not something darker? This is how this crap works! Something casual has a dark underbelly; a new villain – every time you get too happy; too settled everything goes to hell!"

Emma stepped forward, placing a hand on Neal's arm. "Why don't we make a bet then? You come with me – and, when I prove that it's nothing major, we can have dinner at the diner; together."

"And if I'm right?"

"We take them down together! And – I don't know… what would be your reward?"

Neal thought for a moment, before glancing around his kitchen. "Dinner. Here. I cook us up something. You choose the wine. And a beach walk in the waves afterwards!"

She arched an eyebrow in shock over his obvious romantic notions; but didn't resist! There was a faint blush across her cheeks, a smirk on her lips before she returned to badass mode.

"It's a deal then!"

It's a date, Neal wanted to correct. But chose not to agitate the woman with the gun. He paused to open and dig around a draw by the door; finally pulling out an old flashlight.

"Seriously? Don't you have any type of weapon – a gun maybe to throw into the mix instead of a flashlight? Just in case."

"I don't care for guns," Neal insisted. "Besides – you've got us handled in that department. I'll supply the light."

As he followed Emma out of his house, a home in the making, it never occurred to him that he wouldn't be sharing some type of meal with the love of his life tonight. Or that he wouldn't see his bright yellow house for over a year.


End file.
